Shannara Tangle Box
by Hazelcloud
Summary: A collection of drabbles, short stories, and one-shots that are all Shannara related. Reviews are most welcome!
1. Shannara Tangle Box

**Hazelcloud:**

**Welcome to the Shannara Tangle Box! The Shannara Tangle Box is going to be the home of all of my various shannara related drabbles, and one shots.**

The true Tangle Box is one of shadows, unyielding mists, and a labyrinth of paths that lead everywhere but out. There is no escape from the Tangle Box. It steals away your memories; it strips of everything but your base character. Inside the Tangle Box stories shift, and new truths are discovered.

The Shannara Tangle Box is one of my own making. Lost in the depths of the it, inspiration and forgotten tales lurk just waiting for an author to prey upon. Wandering about in the mists and truly enjoying myself I have decided to collect them together for the enjoyment of the reader. Enjoy!

Table of Contents:

Ch.1 **Garet Jax and Staff**_: Short Story about the begining of the Weapons Master_

Ch. 2 ** Swords at Odds: **_A little drabble about a battle between the Swords of Leah and Shannara_


	2. Garet Jax and Staff

**Garet Jax and Staff**

The teenager cursed quietly, and continued running. He barely left any footsteps, and the dagger that he clutched glittered coldly in the light of the moon and stars. Soon he had lost his pursuers in the dark of the night. Still, he refused to slow his footsteps, and continued to make quick progress over the uneven ground.

Just then his toe caught on a root and he fell with a thud to the ground. Groaning he rolled over, and sat up. Brushing himself off, he stood up and began to move off again. Something stayed his feet though, and he turned around to search the ground.

The offending root was barely two feet away from where he stood. Frowning thoughtfully he grasped the end, and pulled upward. The wood stuck in the ground, as though the ground had held it for years and did not want to give it up. With one last effort the boy managed to gain leverage, and the wood came out of the ground.

The wood was surprisingly straight for a root, and the longer he looked at it the less he believed that that was what it was. Curiosity overcame him, and after listening once more signs of pursuit he sat and cradled the wood. Dirt clung to the wood but when he brushed at it the dirt smoothly peeled away. He found himself gazing upon a staff.

The staff was easily four or five feet long, and the entire length of it had been carved with runes. The wood appeared to be a deep brown, and it had been polished till it shown. The boy smiled pleased by the staff.

There was a sudden flash and the boy looked up into the face of an old man. He was stick thin, and appeared to be no more than a bundle of bones. The man's eyes though caught his attention. They were a bright piercing blue, and shone with youthful energy and the wisdom of the old. A smiled graced the old man's face for a second before he spoke.

"I am the King of the Silver River. What is your name, young one?" The boy gaped. Myths and legends surrounded this man. All whispered that he was of faerie blood, and a being of powerful magic.

"Garet Jax, sir"

"Garet…what you hold is an item of great power, and in time you might be able to wield it," the King said solemnly. Garet nodded but his mind was far away thinking upon his dreams and desires. Suddenly, he heard footsteps and without a second thought he began to sprint away clutching the staff in his hands. In a few minutes his encounter with the faerie being was completely forgotten.

The King of the Silver River sighed in defeat. Everything had a reason, he mused. This was undoubtedly the death of the Knight's of the Word but what was it the beginning of?

Many years later the answer to that question would be discovered. It was the birth of a Weapons Master.


	3. Swords at Odds

**Swords at Odds**

The blades glittered in the moonlight, and the wielders of the blades whirled about in an intricate dance…

_Clang._

The blades edges skittered along each other, both made of the sort of expertise that would never again grace another sword. Sparks flashed briefly after a particularly hard block, remnants of druid fire flaring up again after being long forgotten. The swordsmen paused and drew apart briefly, staring at the swords in shock.

One was black, deep black, blacker than the night sky, and if you peered closely a swirling pattern was visible constantly shifting in a sickly green color that reminds one of death. The edges of the blade shone, and were needle sharp and a hundred times more dangerous. This blade had been dipped in the Hadeshorn and tempered by Druid fire creating a wondrous sword. A sword of life and death…

The other appeared nobler glistening and gleaming sliver along the whole length except right near the hilt. A golden emblem lay embedded there, a hand holding forth a burning torch. _Through Knowledge, Power. _It had been created by an expert blacksmith, forged in heat, and the Druid fire's magic. The sword of truth…

The clearing was empty of all but the participants of the battle. The trees that ringed around the clearing were evergreens their needles muting the sounds of the night, and looking particularly sinister in the dark. The moon and stars shone brightly overhead, silent witnesses to that battle.

Seconds later, the swords flashed again moving not in playful gestures but those meant to kill. Round and round they spun as though weaving a tapestry in the air, each meeting the other like the most skillful of dancers in a dance known only to them.

_Spark!_

The swords glinted in the moonlight, and sparks flew once again kindling the true power of each. The silver sword ignited suddenly bright flames flickering across the surface growing brighter with each passing second. The holder flinched surprised, and the others eyes grew wide with surprise. The flaming sword illuminated the mind of the beholders and both saw their lives swirling away in perfect detail.

"Shades! What witchcraft is this you cursed Valeman?" The handler of the black sword glared at the flaming sword with a measure hatred.

"The truth will kill you, Highlander," The Valeman cried and swung the flaming sword towards the other. The highlander hesitated for a mere second but instinctively retaliated.

The blazing truth of the silver sword crashed quickly into the dark depths of the black sword. The silver blade was filled with magic and the black sword shone as it called up its own responding to the other's magic.

Light flared up blinding in its intensity. It flooded the whole clearing, lighting it up as though it was daytime. The two men cringed shading their eyes; the light was so bright it was like staring at the sun.

There was a loud rumbling sound like that of thunder and then it was joined a high ringing sound like that of a bell. The cacophony of noise pummeled their ears and then abruptly there was silence.

Blinking they watched in shock as the swords splintered just above the hilt, the tips and blades shattering into a million pieces and flying though the air glittering like snowflakes, reflecting the bright starlight in their mirror-like surfaces, imbedding themselves into the earth all around the two men.

The two men looked over at each other, eyes wide with surprise, faces and arms slightly damp with blood where some of the shards had scratched their skin. Each clutched a broken hilt in their hand… all that was left of those great swords.

_**It ought never to have happened…**_

They whirled around eyes roaming about the shadows searching for the source of the voices that seemed to emanate from the shadows, or perhaps more precisely the shards of the broken swords.

_**When the protector turns on those he protects…**_

Some of the shards imbedded in the ground began to heat up and glow, a dark glow for each of them was the same swirling black color.

_**We blame the lust for power.**_

The men held hands up to their eyes trying to shield them from some of the newly glowing pieces, and at the same time still search for the sources of the echoing voices.

_**When the truth corrupts, then friend shall turn on friend…**_

The silvery shards of the other sword began to glow also with a bright fiery light that seared into their eyes, as if they had just turned to gaze upon on the sun. It seemed that the light was not just visible but mental too for it tore through their minds calling up images of men that they had no memories of, working together… and they carried the shattered swords.

_**And we shall rise again, in order that the dead shall return to their final resting ground.**_

Shadowy shapes seemed to tear themselves away from the pieces of the swords, swirling away, dissolving into the sharp night air. The light abruptly ceased plunging the pair into complete and utter darkness. They blinked owlishly till their eyes adjusted to the surroundings, and to their astonishment the shards had disappeared.

The swords were no more.

**Hazelcloud: Well? I'd love to know what people think of this little drabble. Most of the ideas in it shouldn't be to hard to figure out but if you have questions feel free to ask them in a review.**


End file.
